Forty-six

I decided to turn 46 today. And, honestly, I’m having a bit of a hard time with this one. I’m not sure why really – there is nothing particularly significant about this age for me. Maybe it’s the fact that in the last two weeks I’ve been affected by no less than four deaths (three patients at work [two were mostly expected], and one, a colleague that I admired, which was very much unexpected). But even without that, ever since the Winter Solstice on December 21, 2023 (oh wow, exactly 1 month ago!), I have felt the need to withdraw, to be introspective, to hibernate essentially. Not in a “feeling the blues” kind of way, but more of a feeling the need to protect myself in some way. Protect myself from what, I couldn’t tell you. It feels more like the need to wrap myself up in a safe cocoon and turn inward – to give myself the time, space, and energy to examine what’s there and to decide how I want to move forward with my life.

I’ve been in a bit of a holding pattern. My job is going well. I think I’m fairly good at what I do and I’m happy when I can be there for someone, or be a kind, listening ear, or just brighten their day with a smile. I have not been dating, nor wanting to date, but yes, feeling the sting of loneliness. I haven’t been exercising since last October and I feel the weight I’ve put back on, which makes me sad sometimes. I haven’t been writing or painting or photographing or really pursuing anything creative. I’ve been busy though. I don’t really know what all I’ve been busy with, it just seems to ebb and flow, you know? Probably lots more T.V. than I should admit to watching. I don’t have a bad life. I actually recognize – and I’m grateful every day – for the good life that I have.

But I also just feel like I’m not really living either. I don’t know if that makes sense. I keep asking myself what I’m working toward in life; what I want out of life; what do I want to accomplish; what do I want to be? These questions have been consuming me lately, because I don’t know how to answer them.

If you had asked me when I was 16 what I wanted my life to be like at 46, I might have said the following: “I want to be thin, married, have some kids, have a good job, live in a good ward with a good calling.” You know – the plan! Growing up there was only ever one plan. There was only one path. It was clear that this one way was also the only RIGHT way – anything else, anything that deviated from that in even the slightest way was wrong, and the type of wrong that borders on sin. But I didn’t need to worry about that because I wanted “the plan” right? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was that plan - to fit in; to be normal; to be like everyone else.

And yet…

I’ve had something inside of me that’s haunted me since I was young, as young as 6. And believe it or not, I’m not talking about being gay. Of course, that plays into it, but there is one struggle that I’ve had throughout my life, that in all honesty, and just for me personally, rivals the excruciating experience of growing up a “closeted gay” in the LDS faith – being fat.

You see, what church gave me was something clear, and something simple – the plan. Grow up, go on a mission, get married, have kids, be a productive, good member of society and serve others. Simple, right? And in a way, this plan gave me a direction so that I no longer really had to think for myself. The plan was laid out and I didn’t have to think too much about it – I just had to follow it. I was promised, in fact, that if I did follow it, that everything would be okay – that all my problems would be addressed, that all my challenges/obstacles would be removed, that I would receive miracles that would change my heart and mind, and a myriad of other promises. I was taught, that when something is right, God prepares a way, he lightens burdens, he makes things possible, and he makes them easy – that’s how you know they are the right things to do.

You might imagine my confusion then, when going to the temple, going on a mission, following the counsel of my priesthood leaders, etc., did not yield the results – the miracles – I was asking for and was told I would receive. I remained fat, ugly, disgusting, unwanted, repulsive, weak, pitied, looked down on, dismissed, devalued, etc. (and yes, gay).

I was 6 years old when I knew that I was fat and that being fat is bad. I still remember the experience, which I won’t relate here. This was also the age where I was molested for the first time (that I can recall, anyway), but I don’t remember how closely these two experiences occurred, though it makes sense that I might feel more self-directed body hatred after having my body violated. In any case, as I say, I knew I was fat and that being fat was bad. From that moment on, I just wanted to be thin, to be normal, to be like everyone else so that I could fit in and be a part of things, and not singled out and picked on as something detestable, gross, unwanted, ridiculed, and unworthy.

So, I prayed. And I promised God that I would be so, so good - perfect even, if that’s what it took, so that I could be worthy of this blessing. This blessing that never came.

Consequently, when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up or what I wanted out of life – I dutifully recited “the plan.” That was after all the only acceptable answer they wanted – whether they voiced that expectation or not. And I said it for so long that I fully believed it myself. But there was also another want there, a deeper want. One that I didn’t think was as acceptable an answer, because compared to “the plan,” this desire of mine was superficial, selfish, vain, prideful, etc. This desire to be thin wasn’t ever really about a bodyfat percentage, mind you. It was about what “being thin” means. It means, being approved of. It means being acceptable to everyone. It means being wanted or desired. It means being attractive and confident. It means being included and being valued. It means being seen as a person worthy of love. But superficial because I also just wanted to be, like, super hot, you know? Hahaha! (*rolls eyes, shrugs shoulders, sighs...*)

Looking back, coming home from my mission and going to college were probably more significant turning points than I realized. Even though I was working my way through “the plan,” suddenly, there were parts of this plan that weren’t established. Yes, get an education and a good job, but a good job doing what? Suddenly there were all these choices that were up to me that I didn’t have “a plan” for. What DO I want to do for work or a career? What are my interests? What do I really want to do?

And I didn’t know, because I had never thought about it. And I never thought about it, because all I could think about was how I wanted to be thin.

Sure, I have a million different interests: writing, photography, cooking, hiking, drawing/painting, music/singing, life sciences – biology, anatomy/physiology, botany, astronomy, etc. But do I love any of those “interests” enough to turn them into a career? Every time I tried something, I found that the answer was, “no, not really.” And to a much greater “unconscious” degree it didn’t really matter what I did - as long as I was thin doing it. Because the reality for me is that anything else I may have wanted didn’t really matter as much as the desire to be thin.

I know, I know – I mean, to hear me talk about it this way makes it sound like I would have put all my heart and soul into making weight loss happen, right? But I couldn’t because, for one, it wasn’t part of “the plan.” The plan doesn’t say you need to be thin to get to the celestial kingdom. So I was left feeling that this one thing, this one important, all encompassing thing to me, was something that I shouldn’t want. And because I tried to be so good, I tried in fact to be perfect, but still didn’t warrant this blessing, I felt that this was God’s way of saying, “no, I’m not going to grant this to you because you don’t deserve it.” And that’s what I’ve believed my whole life – that as much as I wanted thinness (and everything that comes with it), I just didn’t deserve it.

Surely, if I had deserved it, I would either have it as a natural condition (like most everyone else around me it seemed); or I would have been given that condition as a reward for my faithfulness. And not only that – and this point is critically important – but to really have been worthy of it would mean that I had obtained it “easily!” Because, after all, in my spiritual arithmetic, God’s blessings (i.e., his approval) make obtaining blessings easy.

Consequently, I also learned the inverse of this rule – that if good things are easy, then bad things are hard.

Have you ever tried to lose 100 pounds before? Guess what? It’s hard. It’s really, super, f******g, agonizingly hard. Which meant that – because it was so hard – that it wasn’t right for me to achieve. I could WANT it, sure, and I absolutely wanted it, as I said, because of all the desirable things that come with it, but to actually HAVE it? No way. It’s hard, so it must be wrong. It’s hard, so it must not be what God wants for me; it’s not what He thinks I’m worthy or deserving of. If it were, He would have made it easy. Do you see the confusing loop I’ve spent my life in? And most likely why I still feel like I’m spinning my wheels now?

I can see now that my rules (easy=good/hard=bad) were flawed, but I’ve been conditioning my brain with these beliefs for 46 f*****g years!! I have made this my default setting. This is just how I approach life; and no wonder I feel stuck, stagnant, and busy but with no real purpose.

Letting go...

Photo by Catalin Pop on Unsplash

I’m scared, I guess. I’m scared to change – I know I need to; I know it will be good to; but I’m scared. I’ve lived my whole life doing what’s “easy” because I thought it was the right thing to do. Facing the prospect of now needing to do hard things challenges every core belief I’ve had ingrained in me for as long as I can remember.

Ugh, the irony, right? Just facing that I need to do hard things is the hardest thing of all! Laaaaaaaammmme!

But letting go of old, ingrained beliefs – even when I know it’s the right thing to do – is still undeniably hard. And I even feel a bit of some shame and embarrassment that it’s taken me 46 years to figure this out.

You know, it’s strange. When I look back over the last 46 years, I reflect on all the hard things I’ve experienced – and I’ve experienced some really hard things (for me personally, I’m not trying to compare to anyone else or win the “who has the worst life award” here!!). But those hard experiences seem to fall into one of two categories: 1 – victimhood; i.e., that the hard things I’ve been through were hard things that were done TO ME; or 2 – expectations; i.e., that the hard things I did do were expectations from being part of “the plan.” For example, going on a mission, or going back to school to get a Master’s degree, which was extremely hard, but because “getting a good job” was part of “the plan,” I didn’t stop to question it.

But now I need to focus on letting go. As hard as it will be. I need to let go of the belief that hard equals bad. I need to let go of the need to be perfect in order to somehow “earn” thinness (approval, love, etc.). I need to know, learn, and accept that sometimes, good things are hard – even really hard, and that’s okay. I also need to acknowledge that sometimes things are good even when they are hard and even when they don’t seem to be a part of “the plan.”

I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life. No matter what I decide, I do still want to be thin doing it. That desire has never gone away, right or wrong. Maybe my journey to find fat loss, weight loss, health, etc. is the training ground I’ve needed in order to challenge my beliefs about things being hard. Maybe, for me personally, and for whatever reason, this is the best condition for me to learn that I can do hard things, that sometimes hard things are good and that I can finally, perhaps, grow into the man I want to become, some day. I don’t know, maybe ask me again when I’m 76…

Unanswered Questions

I was asked to share my thoughts today in church during an Elder’s Quorum lesson about “where our choices lead.” At first, I didn’t know what to say. This is actually a very difficult question to answer for someone like me. As a gay and active member of the Church, I am constantly considering this question because I am straddling two paths – both of which would lead me to very different destinations. If I were to embrace a completely homosexual lifestyle, I would give up many of the blessings I enjoy by being an active member of the church. On the other hand, by embracing the standards of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I miss out on the possibility of a romantic/intimate companionship that all human beings need. I can’t have both.

But this post isn’t about the conflict I feel, living between two worlds. This post is not about justice, equality, or fairness – religious or otherwise. This post isn’t even about me asking “why.” I could delve into a myriad of questions I’ve had over the course of my life, not the least of which is, why have I been burdened with being gay in a hetero-family-oriented church? No, this post isn’t about all of that. This post is about living with unanswered questions.

I won’t go into detail about what I shared with the brothers in the Elders’ Quorum lesson today, mostly because I’m pretty sure I was bawling like a baby through all of it, even though it only lasted about 5 minutes. But, I do want to share one thing I said, which is the foundation of what I want to share in this post. Regarding my circumstances, as stated above, I shared this, “The Lord knows me. He knows this is hard for me. But I know there is a reason to have faith; even if I don’t know the reason yet – I know there is one.”

Essentially, I am choosing to live a faith-centered, abstinent lifestyle, without really knowing why. I have no proof that my faith will be rewarded. I have no proof that I’m making the right choice. But I am making that choice. I am choosing to abstain from a fully gay lifestyle, in order to remain a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in good standing. (I know many people in my situation have opted to leave the church and I fully support them in their decision – we all have a different path and we all deserve to be loved and accepted for who we are regardless of the path we choose.)

I guess that’s what I think faith is – moving forward when we don’t yet have all the answers. Which is, as I’ve come to realize, unbelievably ironic for me. You see, I seem to have a great deal of faith when it comes to religious/spiritual matters. But I have recently come to know that I don’t seem to have much faith anywhere else in my life.

When I look in the mirror, I hate what I see. When I look in the mirror, I see how fat I am and I hate it. I hate how it looks, I hate how it feels and I hate the burden that it creates in my life on every level – physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. I hate that I can’t physically do things I want to do; I hate that I can’t wear clothes I want to wear; I hate how self-conscious I am and every time I go out in public, I worry that people are going to laugh at me, make fun of me, or look down on me. I worry that they will think about me the way I think about myself – weak, lazy, ugly, and stupid.

I have been on a multi-year journey to fix this – to lose weight, to feel better about myself and my life. I’ve had some successes, but many, many failures and every failure gets harder and harder to get back up from. The problem, if I can oversimplify, isn’t about knowledge or opportunity – I’ve had an abundance of both. The problem is that I tried to move forward without faith. Maybe it seems ridiculous to you, but I think it takes faith to change nutrition and exercise habits. Every time I started a new diet, or a new exercise program, or hired a new trainer, I struggled to put faith into the process or the person who was coaching me. I struggled with cutting things out of my diet, restricting calories, trying new exercises, needing to modify exercises to my ability level and so on, because I didn’t really know if it was going to work or not. The outcome of changing lifestyle habits was my unanswered question – was this really going to work for me this time?

Paradoxically, there were times when I did put my faith in the process and several times it did pay off – it paid off in increased strength, flexibility, weightloss, increased energy, and so on. But then I had a set-back. Several circumstances made me question my faith in the process, so much so, that I gave up on it. I gave up on eating right; I gave up on exercise. And it took its toll. I lost the energy I had gained. I gained back the weight I had lost. I lost strength, flexibility; and probably the worst part – I lost believing in myself.

As I’ve contemplated the things I’ve lost and as I’ve pondered on the seemingly inexhaustible supply of self-loathing I experience on a daily basis, and especially in light of what I was reminded of in church today – I realize that the one  thing I’ve never had any faith in – is me. When I had faith in the process of weightloss, it worked, I did lose weight, and it felt great. But I didn’t believe that I was worth it. I didn’t have faith that I could sustain the progress I had made because I didn’t have faith in myself. And I inevitably gave up on the process of weightloss.

I have spent thousands of hours, years even, money, tears, and whatever energy I could muster to try to understand why I am the way I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bagging on therapy – I love therapy and I’m a huge advocate for it. But after so much time and energy trying to understand why, I think I’m at a place where I realize that some questions just aren’t going to be answered. I don’t know why my first, visceral reaction is to hate myself; I don’t know why I have an aversion to doing anything “hard,” or that will make me look stupid; I don’t know why a good body and self-confidence come so easily to others and not to me. I don’t know why I have to fight my own brain every single day just to function in this world, let alone improve myself. And maybe I won’t ever know. Maybe that’s what faith is – to not know, but to move forward anyway. Maybe what I have needed, more than “answers” is just to have faith that I am worth it; that I can do it; that regardless of how successful I am (I really want to lose that “last” 100 pounds!!), that I’ll be better off for even trying.

Going back to a point I wanted to make – it seems strange that I have no problem having faith in an omniscient/omnipotent being that I can’t see, hear, smell, or touch and yet I can’t have faith in the very physical, tangible experience of being me. I can’t help but ask myself, “what would having faith in myself look like?”

I literally just spent the last 10 minutes looking off into space because I don’t know how to answer that question…

I guess it would mean pursuing health and fitness without having to defend or justify myself. I would do it because it would make me happy. I think it would mean being willing to make sacrifices of junk food/binge eating because I know those things don’t really make me happy long-term. I think it would mean being willing to accept all the bad things that come with life – being willing to be in pain, to be uncomfortable, to sacrifice or go without something I may want in the moment; and knowing that life doesn’t present hardships as a punishment – it’s just a part of life and it’s okay. I think it would mean accepting that some things are just hard, and that it doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that I’ve done something wrong.

It has been difficult to face hard things because I haven’t felt that I was worth it. I also just realized that when something gets hard, I immediately react with feelings of indignation. When I face something hard, I hear my inner voice saying, “this isn’t fair…” And you know what? It isn’t. It isn’t fair that I have to work so hard to lose weight when it comes so easily to other men. It isn’t fair that I have to sacrifice enjoyable food when other men can eat whatever they want and not gain weight. It isn’t fair that I’ve been through so much trauma, only to have to work even harder at changing my thoughts/beliefs as a result. It isn’t fair that I have to deal with the fallout of things that happened to me, that I didn’t cause, that I didn’t want and that I never would have chosen. It isn’t fair that I have to suffer the consequences of other people’s bad choices/behavior. Yes, I know that makes me sound like a brat – and maybe that’s all I’ve ever been. But I’ve avoided and I’ve retreated and I’ve hid myself away because I just can’t face dealing with hard things when it wasn’t my fault to begin with. Well that also sounds like a victim talking…

Okay, so it isn’t fair. I am absolutely, 100% right – it’s not fair.

Now what?

Where does “it’s not fair” actually get me? Nowhere!!

Focusing on “it’s not fair” just leaves me stuck. I don’t have the answer, but maybe, just maybe, one way to get past “it’s not fair” is to realize that what it is, is an opportunity.

No, I didn’t want to be molested. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to forgive. No, I didn’t want to be morbidly obese. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to learn to appreciate the body God has given me. No, I didn’t want to live my life hating myself because other people hurt me. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to triumph in the face of adversity.

Maybe what “isn’t fair” is also an opportunity for faith. I think having faith in myself is trusting that what I want is okay to want; that I am worth achieving and maintaining improved health and fitness; that it’s okay that the process will be hard at times, but that the outcome will be worth it.

I think having faith in myself will mean doing the hardest thing possible: accept myself for who I am, the way I am, fat and all.

I have gotten used to beating myself up and I have gotten used to misery. I think it will be just as hard to admit that I’m okay, as it will be to accept that I’m okay. I have never allowed myself to be truly happy. I thought I needed to change, to achieve an ideal body/success, in order to matter, in order to be happy. So I’ve never allowed myself to really be happy. I was afraid that if I was happy then something bad would happen to “balance it out.” I was afraid that being happy meant I was being selfish. I was afraid that being happy meant taking happiness away from others, because there’s only so much to go around. I was afraid that being happy meant that I couldn’t change my circumstances, that I had to give up my dreams of improving myself physically or otherwise, because if I’m happy, then what else do I need?

It’s just occurred to me that I don’t think of happiness as an outcome of choices I make (i.e., a side effect); I think of happiness as THE destination – the whole end goal. Once you’re happy, that’s it – you’ve made it. You’re happy and there’s nothing else to want or do because you don’t need anything because you’re happy.

But what if happiness is NOT a final destination? What if happiness is NOT an end, in and of itself?

What if happiness is like a jacket. You aren’t meant to wear jackets all the time, but for some kinds of weather it’s the perfect comfort. In that way, maybe fulfillment doesn’t come FROM simply “being happy,” but maybe fulfillment comes from growth and achievement, and happiness just sometimes comes along for the ride…?

Well this post just kind of went everywhere, didn’t it? Sorry if it’s been all over the place. I didn’t realize until I started typing this that the concept of happiness was such a contributing factor to my lack of self-worth.

Ultimately, I don’t know what will come from all of the realizations I’ve had today. I still have so many unanswered questions. But I suppose that was really the whole point of this post in the first place: Faith is just living life with unanswered questions – and unanswered questions are no reason to stop living.

Filling needs

My whole life I thought my needs could only be filled by my parents. But what if I have a room in my soul where all of my needs can be met? But I never use it because I think it can’t come from me; I think it has to come from my parents. I never think to look inside because I don’t believe I have it within me to fill those needs because I don’t believe in myself… that’s a vicious cycle.

It makes sense that if you think you’re worthless you’re not going to look inside to find a way to meet your needs – you don’t think you’re capable. What if you just decide to tell yourself that you are? It means disconnection from parents and that disconnection feels like death. What if you just tell yourself that it’s time to die? Maybe it’s time for the “worthless” you to die, so that the worthful you can finally live?

Thou shalt be unhappy...

I feel like I have to prove to the world that I’m worthless. It’s like, that’s how I see myself and nobody else seems to agree; no one else seems to be buying into that idea. Which I really don’t get, because for about seven years, I was made fun of everyday. I’m not exaggerating. I was literally made fun of every single day from, like, 4^th grade until I was a junior in High School. Life was hell. Every day I woke up with a knot in my stomach wondering “where it was going to come from today,” or “who’s going to be making fun of me today?” or “how many people are going to laugh when I break another chair again…?” The message of all the insults, ridicule and bullying was loud and clear – “Micah, you don’t fit in here; you don’t fit in anywhere. You’re fat and disgusting and no one wants anything to do with you. We’d all be better off if we didn’t have to look at you.” And I accepted that. They were right. I WAS fat and disgusting. I knew that. I could see it myself when I looked in the mirror. I agreed with them.

Then, little by little, during my junior year of high school, there were less and less insults. Fewer and fewer people seemed to be interested in teasing me. Maybe they were just bored with it. Or maybe they were “growing up.” The strange thing is, while the insults stopped, the message that I wasn’t acceptable didn’t. Okay, so people were no longer making fun of me outright, but there seemed to be a whole new method of reminding me that I wasn’t worth much. It was typified in conversations that I overheard from girls, mostly. They frequently talked about boys they liked and it was always the thin, athletic, good-looking guys they were fawning over. Okay, message received – girls aren’t into fat guys, got it. Being avoided and excluded can be just as isolating and hurtful as being pointed at and laughed at.

I’m pretty sure part of me is writing this so people will feel sorry for me, which has been my “go to” coping mechanism for quite some time. It’s why/how I became addicted to self-pity. It felt great to say, “See? I’m the victim. I was innocent and the ‘world’ did this to me – so everyone should feel sorry for me and even admire me for what I’ve been through,” as if my suffering has been a nobly endured self-sacrifice. What a load of crap! Basically it was me saying, I was hurt, therefore, I’m not responsible for anything that happens in my life.

But then who’s to blame for all this hurt? Who’s to blame for everything going wrong? Paradoxically - Me. It has to be my fault, because I’m the only one that I can truly punish. I can’t punish my parents. I can’t punish my friends. I can’t punish Heavenly Father. But me? “Me” I can punish. “Me” I can blame. After all, I never would have been made fun of if I had been thin. I would have been one of the guys the girls wanted to be with if I had been athletic and attractive. So it WAS my fault. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t measure up and I had no one to blame for that but me. “Oh, but you have such a great personality,” people have said. Uh… yeah, sure, whatever. Too bad a good personality wasn’t enough to be acceptable, otherwise why would I have been teased so mercilessly? Clearly, appearances are much more important than people are willing to admit.

So… I learned to be a worthless victim, which helped me to survive, but it also made me miserable. It also led me to establish a pattern of reacting to everything in life with a negative mindset. Life is a series of obstacles that are too hard for me. My focus is always on what I can’t do or why I can’t do it – i.e., making excuses (to stay safe). You see, I learned in church that if something was right, then Heavenly Father would help you by lifting the burden and making it light, i.e., making it easy. So if something in my life was too hard, it meant I was doing something wrong, because I wasn’t receiving help. Or, for whatever reason, I wasn’t deserving of help. And the “I’m worthless…” cycle continued. Made all the more painful at the thought that I have a loving Father in Heaven who doesn’t think I’m worth enough to help.

Of course, nobody likes a wet blanket, so I learned pretty quick to “have the appearance” that everything is okay and not to let anyone know that I’m really suffering. So I became a pretty good liar, for the most part. Fast forward to today when I’ve played my part so well that I’ve completely snowed everyone into thinking that I’m confident and capable.  So much so that people actually treat me that way and it’s just weird. People actually treat me like I’m capable and are even complementary at times. What?!? When did this happen? Don’t we still live in a world where I’m the fat loser that everyone hates and is disgusted by? How is it that the same world that beat me down as a little kid, grew up and now treats me with respect? And what, I’m supposed to just change all that overnight? No way! They hurt me. They can’t just change their minds and say, “oh, so now we think you are pretty awesome and we want you to believe in yourself.” What?!? Excuse me?!? You can’t just change your mind like that. If you’re gonna hate me, then hate me and keep hating me, but don’t hate me for a little bit, then decide that you want to change your mind and start treating me like I’m someone deserving of respect. It’s like the worst joke you can play on someone – make them believe they are one thing, then once they have fully embraced that, make a complete reversal and tell them they’re something else.

There are so many hard things about being in this situation, but one of, if not, THE hardest thing to deal with is what’s going on inside of me. There’s that guy inside of me asking, “okay, so the world is giving you mixed signals – but what do YOU want to believe? Who do YOU want to be?” And right now, I don’t know. I’m struggling to know how to answer those questions. I’ve relied on outside opinions to tell me who I am for so long that I’ve lost the ability to choose that for myself. Or maybe it’s in there somewhere, but just atrophied from lack of use.

I’ve believed for so long that I was meant to be unhappy, as if it were an unspoken commandment meant only for people like me – “…but thou? Thou shalt be unhappy.” “Men are that they might have joy… unless you’re fat, then all bets are off!”

The other thing that’s hard is that I played the victim in order to avoid responsibility, when in reality, I am the only one who can be responsible for me, including being responsible for what I believe. Talk about a cruel irony! Being fat wasn’t/isn’t the problem. Being made fun of wasn’t the problem. Being told I was “worthless” wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I chose to believe it. It was MY choice. No one forced me to internalize that belief. When someone made fun of me, I could just as easily have said, “you’re wrong.” But I didn’t. I was/am far too sensitive. I want people to be happy and I’m willing to “be wrong” if it means making someone else happy to be right. But discounting myself has a cost and I’ve been paying that price my whole life.

I was so busy looking for someone else to tell me that I was okay, that I never learned how to tell myself that I’m okay. And no, Heavenly Father doesn’t help by making things easy, but He does help. And He isn’t up there, sitting His throne, waiting for me to mess up so that he can either punish me or intervene, He’s right here with me, encouraging me and doing all He can, in spite of the limitations I put on Him, to help me. Men ARE that they might have joy, but they also have to have bad days. I don’t think that scripture meant that we should only be feeling joy and if we don’t, then we’re doing something wrong. I think it just means that joy is a worthwhile endeavor – that it’s okay to live in such a way that produces joy. This world was created to hold all the good AND the bad and it was a part of the plan to experience both. Things aren’t hard for me because I’m worthless and undeserving, things are hard because I’m human and mortal. Things aren’t hard because I made some horrible mistake by being born fallible; they are hard because that’s just how it was designed. Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean I’ve done something wrong. And besides, from the very beginning, help was there – promised even.

And there’s no denying that I’ve been helped. There’s no denying that I’m still here. After all the crap I’ve been through and all the times I contemplated being done with this world and my miserable existence, I’m still here. (And trust me when I say that the teasing was a walk in the park compared to some other things I’ve been through, it’s just that the other things are far too personal to share at this point!) I’m learning, I’m changing, I'm messing up sometimes and getting things right sometimes, I have good days and bad days, and so on and so forth, and isn't that what this life is really all about?

The promises we keep

I woke up this morning to a feeble light trying to find its way into my room. Feeble, but persistent as it had to travel through a covered patio, a covered window well and two sets of curtains. I'm surprised any light made it through at all. The brief joy of waking naturally was quickly replaced with the discomfort of sore and achy muscles. First, from the two to three days of packing and cleaning my old place and second, from the strange contours of a new, unfamiliar bed.

A blind stretch to my nightstand, gentle groping and a squinty-through-one-eyelid glance at the piercing light of my cell phone display told me it was 6:13am. My first reaction was to bemoan how early I had awoken, knowing that I had given myself permission to sleep in, but then I recalled that I had gone to bed at 10:00pm the night before and getting eight hours of sleep felt like an accomplishment; even if I was pretty sore.

"Well now what am I going to do?" was the actual question I asked myself.
"Go back to sleep," was the obvious answer! ... and yet...

I couldn't help but watch the light, which seemed to be glowing, behind the curtains. Was it blue because it was indirect and had to go through so many levels of obstacles? Or was it blue because the sky was a brilliant morning blue, however far away it may be? All I knew was that the light meant that the sun was rising on a new day and did I really want to miss it?

Then I began to contemplate my life and the sudden changes I am experiencing. Graduation from a program that felt like it would never end. Unexpectedly obtaining a job... in another state. The ensuing purge of neglected possessions; some to throw out, others to donate. Then packing and cleaning and the realization that nothing will ever be the same for me...

"Can I really leave my family? My friends? My whole life has been here. How can I just leave it behind like this?" What a curious thought - that my life is somehow tied to a specific set of circumstances! Isn't my life my own? Isn't my life simply wherever I happen to be? And what do I want out of life?

It had been suggested to me that this change is an opportunity to make a new start. That was an idea that had already occurred to me, truth be told, but another idea also occurred to me. What guarantees me being a new person simply because I move to a new place? The truth is, when I move I will be "taking myself" with me. I will be taking my same thoughts, my same words, my same ideas, my same beliefs, my same way of seeing the world and others and myself... Will all of that mysteriously change simply because I move to a new place?

Another realization, which is perhaps somewhat self-convicting, why am I living a life where it becomes necessary, or even just desirable, to "start over?" If I need a new start, perhaps I wasn't really living "my" life to the fullest. Perhaps I spent to many mornings "sleeping in."

(Side note: I love these deep philosophical debates with myself, no matter what time of day it is!)

I had resolved that if I am going to make a new start, it is only going to be coincidence that it's happening along with other changes in my life. I am going to "make a new start" simply because I want to live a different life, starting today. So I did what I promised myself I would do and went for a walk this morning.

Now, I don't know where or when this started, but for as long as I can remember, every time I exercise, I immediately feel ashamed and like people are going to laugh at me. Today was no different. Being in a (temporarily) new neighborhood WASN'T liberating, as I had thought it might be. It was just a newer set faces to look at me and make fun of me; new people to be afraid of. But I had made a promise to myself that I was going to live my life not fearing what other people may or may not be thinking of me. So I set out.

I took in several deep breaths of air, held my head up high and started walking. The sky WAS in fact a brilliant morning blue. While it WAS light outside, the sun, much to my chagrin, had not yet risen. A five minute walk took me to an open field and just as I reached it, the sun slid up from behind the mountains. I felt like it was shining just for me at that moment.

Just south of Thanksgiving Point in Lehi, Utah looking eastward



My walk also took me past a busy street (yay - more people to stare at me!) that runs under some train tracks. During a brief lull in traffic, I got this fun view:

 

 



But without a doubt, the best view was the one I got when I made it home. What was that great view? I had kept my promise to myself!

That may sound anti-climactic for some. But for me, it's a big deal, not for the act of walking, but for the meaning behind it. It meant that I was challenging my own beliefs and thoughts about myself. I haven't always felt that I was worth much, but today I chose to believe that I was worth something. I have always been afraid of what other people may think or say, but today I chose to believe that it didn't matter (FYI - nobody made fun of me for exercising!). I haven't always believed that I deserve to improve myself, but today I chose to believe that I do.

So maybe it's just coincidence that I am taking these risks now that I've graduated and am in the process of moving to a new place. Or maybe I just needed this upheaval in circumstances as an impetus to make some changes within. I accept now that the changes I make within are the ones that determine my life and NOT my circumstances. It's not where I live, or what I own, or even what I look like - it's how I think and feel about myself and how I treat myself that determine my life.

Today was just a Wednesday. But it was a great day because it was a new start - a new life of faith, of belief and of keeping promises to myself.

If only...

I've often had the "if only I had _____, then I would be happy" daydream. (FYI - it starts as a daydream and quickly becomes a cage.) I realized this Sunday that it's not the conditions of my life that I am unhappy with - it's me. I'm unhappy with me, and therefore, unhappy with my life.

I suppose that's why I hear about people who are thin and attractive or rich and famous, who seem to have it all and still commit suicide (part of this train of thought was influenced by the somewhat recent death of Tony Scott). How does someone who seemly has everything become so depressed that they commit suicide? I'm sure there are various reasons, but I know for some, it's just that they never learned to be happy with themselves.

My realization is also spurred by my trip to San Diego. Part of my purpose was to see if I liked it there enough that it might be some place I want to live after I graduate. I wondered, "can I move to a new town that is unfamiliar to me and be okay?" Well, the answer I received as I was driving home was that it doesn't really matter where I am - it only matters who I am. If I am unhappy with myself here in Salt Lake, I'll be unhappy with myself in San Diego or any other part of the country; location doesn't matter. When my mom asked me if it's some place I'd like to live I thought, sure, but really I can live anywhere. No matter where I am, if I'm happy with myself, then I'm happy with my life - no matter the conditions.

I'm sorry if this seems like another "I hate myself" kind of post, but I don't mean it to sound that way at all. In fact, just the opposite. I feel freer now that I 've recognized this. Because I can't always change my circumstances, but I can always change myself. All my life I've been waiting for the conditions of my life to improve ("if only I had ___"), when really I needed to just improve myself. And by improving myself I mean learning my worth and being comfortable in my own skin. The conditions of life will always come secondary to the conditions within myself and that is something I can do something about!

I'm in!

So I moved today.

I am exhausted. I haven't had much time for packing, what with jury duty and studying, etc., but my mom and sis came over Friday night and got me squared away. Then my mom and other sis came over on Saturday and helped me (I should say "the movers") move. IT took about 5 hours and I felt like I had run a marathon after! I haven't been that active in a long time - especially after sitting for extended periods of time at school the last few months!

I am grateful to have such a great support system, my mom and sis's are great! (I know "sis's" isn't grammatically correct due to a phonotactic constraint, but I'm going to use it anyway - see how much I'm learning!)

I didn't have as much stuff as I thought, and yet, somehow, I also feel like I still have too much! I threw away or donated a ton of stuff over the last few months, anticipating the move, but I think I need to get rid of more.

In any case, I am glad that this week is over and I am glad that I am moved in!! Now I can focus on my midterms!! Yay for sarcasm!!

Things I learn from Aphasia

I have class devoted to learning about Aphasia, which is a language disorder as a result of a traumatic brain injury, usually a stroke.

We watched a video of a conference that was held focusing on how to best counsel people with Aphasia. It was pretty interesting, but the thing that impressed me was the very humanistic approach that was adopted. One thing in particular that stood out to me was a quote that was shared that had no attributable author. I loved it so I've re-typed it below (preserving the punctation):

Anonymous Meditation
"We think we get over things.
We don't get over things
Or say, we get over the measels but not a broken heart.
We need to make that distinction.
The things that become part of our experience never become less a part of our experience.
How can I say it?
The way to "get over" a life is to die.
Short of that, you move with it.
Let the pain, be pain, not in the hope that it will vanish
But in the faith that it will fit in.
Find its place in the shape of things
And then be not any less pain but true to form.
Because anything natural has an inherent shape
And it will flow towards it.
And life is as natural as a leaf.
That's what we're looking for
Not the end of a thing, but the shape of it.
Wisdom is seeing the shape of your life
Without obliterating (getting over) a single instant of it."

Making up for only 2 posts in April so far...

Just trying to survive the next couple of weeks. I probably make it sound worse than it really is. The last few weeks of the semester have been good, but also a challenge. Next week I have two finals and because I've decided to "settle" for an A-, I won't be taking my third class's final, which is optional, and I'm really okay with and A-, so yay! But with other projects to be done, I haven't been able to keep up on the other two classes, so here I am, having to take a few days off work to catch up! Grrrr...! (Well, what I'm really doing is avoiding even starting my homework by blogging about it!!)

I've also been experimenting with my diet again. I spent the last two or three years trying to discover how foods affect me, and that has been invaluable, but I am now trying to play with the idea of consistency. I might eat well for a week or two, but I usually binge on the weekends, pretty much negating any good I did during the week. Sticking to the foods that make me feel better and avoiding the foods that make me feel worse has been hard. Then I wonder to myself, why? If good food makes me feel good, and bad food makes me feel bad, then why is this even an issue? Why is it that I am willing to destroy my health, and even my life, for junk food? Not even junk food, really, because I'm also including pasta and bread and cheese (dairy) in all this...

I suppose it boils down to a tolerance for bad feelings. What I mean by that is, it is true that bad food makes me feel bad, but only after it makes me feel good. And not just good, but like, blissfully good. It doesn't just ease stress and pain - it makes it go away. Good food doesn't have that effect. Good food makes you feel good, it's true, but it doesn't "eliminate" the bad feelings like bad food does. These things are hard to judge and measure because they are not black and white topics, they are all about continuums. There are degrees of feeling good and bad and then it's further complicated by different types, such as feeling good or bad physically vs. emotionally vs. mentally vs. spiritually, etc.

You know what's strange? I go through the most amazing emotional and mental olympic events in order to avoid pain (stress, suffering, etc.), but I only end up supplanting some pains for other pains, so I haven't really eliminated pain, I've only altered it. As I type this, I'm starting to make some connections. I also think the reason I do this is to have some semblance of control. Food is something I can do something about, therefore, I use it like I am in control of it - in that way I convince myself that I am "in control." I control how I feel and when I feel it. BUT - it's a fallacy. What I have actually done is GIVEN control to food and to my body and deep down I know this is the wrong method, but the thought of "losing" that control and opening myself up to the pain of life that I can't control is terrifying. (stray thought here: I think I've just invented a new field that is the synthesis of art and science which I'll call "performance therapy")

So, I guess I need to figure out why am I so afraid of pain? I love C.S. Lewis' work on the meaning of pain, and I'll be honest it's a bit beyond me, but what I get from it is that pain has a purpose. It's a part of the experience of life and life is incomplete without it. For me personally, pain is what reminds me that I need a Savior, no, that I depend on a Savior. If my life were easy, I would never need Him. Maybe to some degree, my being so terrified of pain only aggrandizes it's effect. What if the pain of life really isn't all that bad, or at least, as bad as I "think" it will be and I am missing out on the joy of life, simply because I'm trying to avoid a little pain?

You know what? I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to be afraid of pain. I don't want to be afraid of repentance. I don't want to be afraid of change. I don't want to be afraid of life.

I can see why addictions are so strong: Just a simple little molecule called (insert drug of choice, i.e., sugar, alcohol, tobacco, etc), and all of your pain goes away. What could be simpler than that? It gives you relief and the feeling of being in control, even if it's just an illusion. Who wouldn't want that? But what are you left with? You are left with living life on only one side of the seesaw where nothing happens and life becomes meaningless. Who knew? Joy AND Pain make life fulfilling. Oddly enough, it's been part of the message of the gospel for as long as it's been around. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic here!)

Speaking of the gospel, and because I think that's enough Performance Therapy for one day, I have been asked to speak in church on Sunday. I was asked to "sum up the Atonement in 8-10 minutes." (I can hear Bill Cosby in my head going, "riiiiigggghhhhttt.....") I have been pondering and praying for a week now and I'm totally at a loss for what to say. No, wait, that's not right. I'm at a loss as to HOW to say it. The truth is, I have a lot of feelings about the Atonement, especially from the experience of my dad passing away, but how do you take something that personal and put it into words? I'm sure I'll come up with something, but I just know I won't be able to do justice to what I feel in my heart. I guess it's also hard because I know it's the last time I will be able to speak in my ward. Anyway, wish me luck! I'll let you know how it goes...